Wednesday, January 09, 2013

9th of January

This morning was a running morning, so I was already up, fed and alert when Ted woke up and asked me to be involved with his pretend play. Which is a little easier on the old imagination muscle than when you're lying in bed, eyes half-closed, dreaming of parallel universes and cryptic puzzles (seriously, that is one of my most common dreams; I love it but it does take a little to shake off first thing in the morning).

This play was all about shopping. Obviously. I mean, just in case you've never seen a cash register before or something. Anyway, I was the assistant, James was the customer and I think Ted was the administrator. He was quite interested in finding shapes in his nut butter toast, declaring at one stage that it looked like a whale's fin coming out above a wave. And you know what? Blow me down if it didn't look exactly like that!

Although we did need to leave the house to go to the chemist, the children exhibited the kind of movement apathy they are well known for. Any suggestion to move beyond the four walls was met with a lacklustre verbal response and little to no physical response. Ted was much more eager to explore just how much fun it was to use a broken necklace as a...errr....belt? It was definitely a snake at some stage as well. No surprise there.

Both of the children decided to make some robots and whilst the craft was strong with these two, I decided to try my luck at solo time and hit up my book for a little more perusing. I started a part in there that was so shocking and disturbing that I knew if I stopped reading it I honestly wouldn't be able to pick it back up again, so I left them to create the cardboard robot families that will no doubt take over the world one day and then we'll send one back in time to save us and...you may have heard this one before. I then read sufficiently into my book that I wasn't shaking (well ok just a little) and then tried again to rouse them out of their domestic affection.

I was just a little too late. Ted found his Christmas bubbles, and had a fantastic time twirling and running in the backyard, while Harriet told me with great pride that she "still has nearly all" of her bubbles. I quipped that it looked like Ted was really enjoying his bubbles a lot more than she was enjoying her bubble mixture. To which she demurred and found her touchable bubbles and blew some. It was a miracle! She never uses the touchable bubbles!

I remember when I was about ten, my brother and I went to the parents' house of someone who we shared a hose with. They were lovely people and as we left they gave us both a biscuit. I held on to that (preciously jam) biscuit nearly all the way home in the car. My brother, by turn, had eaten his within the first few seconds of the car door closing behind him. I proudly declared my (obviously superior) attitude to the biscuit, to which our housemate replied that if there was an earthquake then and there, my brother would have enjoyed his biscuit and I would perish without knowing the delicious sweetness I had plucked from the Arnotts mixed packet.

So stunned was I at such a different way of looking at the world, that I (obviously) held that comment very close to my heart. It's funny how these off the cuff remarks from adults can hold such power over a child's imagination. You never quite know what's going to 'stick'.

So after the bubbles I fed up the children with a bowl of pasta and sauce each, tucked shoes on the blonde one (he, meanwhile, found Harriet's purple dress, one of his favourites, and got changed to regale us with Annie tunes. It never ends. I will be eternally grateful for when this phase is over) and headed off. We got out of the car and can you guess what Ted said? "I'm hungry". Seriously. I mean, COME ON!

Duties performed we were back at the car when I suggested we head to a park (to ensure Ted let off some energy). Harriet chose Sydney Park. Ted chose Camperdown. *sigh* I could foresee a long stalemate and I offered up Centennial as an alternative. And do you know what happened? Harriet dug he heels in and said she really wanted to go to Sydney Park and Ted acquiesced. Harriet and I both shared a silent look of incredulity but, unwilling as we were to bring undue attention to this drastic change in behaviour, we merely replied with a neutral "Ok Ted" and off we drove.

I should really have known to avoid Sydney Park without a change of clothes, or at least a towel, however after climbing to great heights (see photo, I love that shot) and sliding down a couple of slides, Ted immediately stripped off to his underwear and engaged with the sand. The contradictions come thick and fast, since Ted kept walking over to me, arms outstretched, hands splayed, with the anxious demand to be clean. He would then almost immediately become involved with another sand game and only when he paused in that would he remember that he didn't actually like sand and come over to me in the comical stance as before.

As Ted told me "They are called sandals after all Mama". He has been coming up with some real crackers lately. You'd think the PAD would encourage me to remember them but I'm still just as clueless as before. I must try to remember them!

Then our late afternoon was spent in the delicious company of a good friend and her son, as well as my naked children. I made up a biscuit recipe which turned out ok. Baking biscuits is really quite the challenge of the dairy free household, but I'm hoping to get the hang of it. Beware, my visitors! You may be my next guinea pig!

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Who We Are

I'm Cass, living in the centre of the universe, the Inner West of Sydney. I negotiate life with James and the two younger ones, Harriet and Ted. We live an everyday kind of life but I celebrate the small stuff, try to leave only footprints and definitely take loads of photographs. Stop and have a read.